The Serpent's tooth

Chapter 16

Shah Jahan leant against one of the columns of the pavilion in his mahtab bagh, his moonlight garden across the Jumna from Mumtaz’s tomb. Here, among the waxy white champa flowers and orange trees, was one of the few places he could find peace. On nights like this he could almost imagine Mumtaz herself was beside him. What would she have said about the state of his relationship with their children? But that was a foolish question — if she’d lived their children would never have drifted so far away from him or apart from each other, and they themselves might have turned out differently.

As so often in recent days his thoughts returned to Jahanara. His initial anger had blunted a little over the week since he had confined her to the imperial haram, but he couldn’t forgive her behaviour with Nicholas Ballantyne. Of all his children she was the one he’d thought he’d understood the best, believing they had recreated the bonds that had existed before the incident leading to the fire. Clearly he had been deluding himself, seeing what he wanted to see rather than the reality. Wasn’t that what men often did as old age claimed them? Her duplicity had hurt him far more than if it had been Roshanara or Gauharara. Though his younger daughters were affectionate enough they’d never meant the same to him. He missed Jahanara … her daily visits, her companionship and wisdom.

At least Dara would soon return from his inspection of the new fortifications on the great trunk road near Gwalior. What would he make of the scandal that had enveloped his sister? As for his other sons, he’d not seen any of the three for many months. Aurangzeb was still in the Deccan. Despite his stubborn pride and confidence in his rigid view of the world, he was at least showing himself a diligent and effective administrator even if his reports were short and uninformative. Taxes from the wealthy south were flowing smoothly into the Moghul treasuries and for the moment the empire’s southern borders seemed quiescent. He was glad that his third son appeared to have at last put the humiliation of the northern campaign behind him. He must find some important honour to confer on him and summon him to court to receive it. Aurangzeb’s claim that he had never loved him still lingered … it wasn’t true and he would prove it to his prickly son …

He might also recall Shah Shuja to court to reward him for his management of Bengal which too seemed prosperous and peaceful, although his despatches were as terse as Aurangzeb’s and even less frequent. Shah Shuja’s hard-working officials probably deserved the real credit but it would be good to see his son again. As for Murad, he must certainly soon summon him to Agra. Unlike his brothers, he was not performing well as a governor. Only last week a private report from Gujarat’s loyal and honest revenue minister, Ali Naqi, had informed him — respectfully but unambiguously — that even though Shah Jahan had personally ordered Murad to levy higher dues on the rich English traders of Surat, the foreigners had easily bought off the prince with rich gifts which he was squandering without a thought for remedying his province’s dilapidated finances. Would Murad take his strictures to heart? All the evidence suggested that he remained shallow and vain and — if his letter attempting to excuse his behaviour over the Surat merchants was anything to go by — full of bluster when challenged about his inadequacies just as after the failure of his northern campaign.

Shah Jahan closed his eyes, feeling weary as he now quite often did. A few hours hunting or hawking exhausted him. The days when he’d galloped hundreds of miles yet still had energy to wield his ancestors’ sword Alamgir in battle were long gone. Perhaps that was to be expected now he was in his mid-sixties. Soon he would hand the sword to Dara — it was fitting that his eldest son should have it, especially since he himself was now the father of promising sons. Suleiman was a fine horseman and marksman but also a thinker and scholar like his father. Young Sipihr closely resembled their Moghul mother Nadira, sharing her charm and intelligence. The dynasty’s blood ran strong and vigorous through their veins.

Shah Shuja, Aurangzeb and Murad also had sons though he scarcely saw them. If they arrived at court tomorrow he would barely recognise them. That was a pity. He would like to know them better so that they could learn from him, just as he had from his own grandfather, Akbar. That thought made him especially pleased that Dara, who had always seemed to him to resemble Akbar in so many ways, would not be away too much longer.

Hearing the hooting of an owl, Shah Jahan opened his eyes to see the bird’s dim shape soaring into the sky. How bright the star-dusted heavens, so loved by his great-grandfather Humayun, looked. He took a few steps away from the pavilion the better to appreciate their beauty. But as he did so, the world began spinning around him. The stars were whirling at his feet while the sky sprouted flowers and fountains. Was it an earthquake? He reached out for something to hold on to but his hand seemed to extend into nothingness and he felt himself falling forward … He could hear voices, but faint and far away. Dark mists enveloped him.

‘What do the hakims say? Tell me everything, please, Roshanara …’ Jahanara’s heart thumped as she scrutinised her sister’s face.

‘They’re not yet sure what the problem is but they say he’s exhausted, both in mind and in body. Of course they blame his onerous responsibilities, the time he must spend in the Hall of Public Audience administering justice … the long hours he has to spend privately with his counsellors and commanders. But of course recently he’s had other worries …’

Jahanara flushed but said nothing. This was the first time Roshanara had visited her since she’d been confined to the fort’s haram. At first she’d wondered whether Shah Jahan had forbidden her sisters to see her but Satti al-Nisa had assured her it wasn’t so. Doubtless her sisters didn’t wish to associate themselves with her disgrace. Now that Roshanara had finally come, she didn’t want to say anything that would send her away, at least not until she had learned everything she could about their father’s health. ‘How serious is it? How long do they think it will take him to recover? He will recover, won’t he?’

‘The doctors believe so but say it may take some time. One of them — old Ali Karim — has suggested that when our father is strong enough he should go north to Lahore where the cooler air will do him good. I will accompany him if he goes — Dara too. He has been informed of our father’s illness and is hastening his return to Agra.’ Roshanara smoothed the heavily embroidered border of her sleeve.

‘And our other brothers? Have you written to them?’

‘No, not yet. I didn’t want to alarm them. I considered it better to wait a few days when Father’s condition will be clearer and there may well be good news to report.’ That wasn’t quite true, Roshanara thought as she continued to play with her sleeve. She had written at once to Aurangzeb. He had been so grateful for the other information she had sent him about what was happening at court — what she heard in the haram through wives of their husbands’ rivalries and alliances, their secret ambitions and weaknesses. She liked to feel important to someone — not something she’d experienced often in her life. Unlike Dara and even her father, Aurangzeb at least knew how to value her.

For a little time the sisters were silent, each immersed in her own thoughts. Then Jahanara said awkwardly, ‘I’m glad to see you, Roshanara. How have you been … and Gauharara? Satti al-Nisa told me you gave a party together last week, here in the haram.’

‘We’re both very well. Gauharara has a pet mongoose, sent to her by Dara’s wife Nadira. When it hears the notes of a flute it stands on its hind legs and revolves for as long as the music lasts.’ Roshanara glanced towards the door, clearly thinking of leaving.

Suddenly Jahanara could contain herself no longer. ‘Sister, why are we discussing such trivialities? Why don’t you ask me straight out about what happened between myself and Nicholas Ballantyne … don’t you want to know the truth? Though my father will not listen to me, it would grieve me that you, Gauharara and my brothers should think ill of me. I promise on our mother’s memory that you have no cause to do so. I’m guiltless. Make them understand my innocence too. Be my ambassador.’

‘Why should I be the bearer of your lies?’

‘Roshanara!’ Jahanara stared at her sister, shocked by her tone and the hardness in her eyes. ‘I would never lie to you or to our father. As I told him, I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. My relationship with Nicholas Ballantyne was innocent.’

‘How can you say that? I saw your shameless words to him and I …’ Roshanara fell silent, but it was too late.

Jahanara moved closer to her sister and looked into her face. She saw the flicker of dismay and suddenly she understood … ‘Was it you who betrayed me? Did Nasreen bring my letter to you, instead of to Nicholas?’

Roshanara said nothing and Jahanara felt a sudden urge to slap her smooth, round face, angry with herself as well as with her sister. She’d assumed that a curious Nasreen had not been able to resist opening the letter and, reading the contents, had seen an opportunity for reward. She wouldn’t have been the first attendant venal enough to seek to profit from her intimate position in an imperial household. But it had never crossed her mind that Nasreen had simply been doing another’s bidding … and not just anyone’s but that of her own sister! ‘You planned it all, didn’t you? That was why you urged me to take Nasreen into my household … to be your spy. How could you do such a thing? And even if she did bring you my letter why didn’t you come to me first instead of taking it to our father? You never gave me a chance to explain.’

‘No, I didn’t plan it. It was natural Nasreen and I should talk when she visited the fort and when I saw your letter it required no explanation. I knew at once that it was my duty to take it to our father.’ Roshanara turned but Jahanara moved quickly to stand between her and the door. She would not permit her sister to leave until she had answered all her questions.

‘I’m not a fool. Nasreen has been in my household for two years at least. All that time you must have been hoping she’d bring you some evidence to use against me. What I don’t understand is why. You’re my sister. I’ve always done my best for you!’

‘Have you? For years you’ve either patronised or ignored me as if I were nothing beside you, the great First Lady of the Empire. You’ve always been by our father’s side, behaving as if you were the new empress and the rest of us just your acolytes. That night at our mother’s urs when our father left the mausoleum to cross the river to the moonlight garden you told me only you need follow, as if I were of no account and only you had the right to go and only you could bring him comfort.’

‘It wasn’t meant to be like that … I’m truly sorry if it seemed so.’ Seeing sudden tears in Roshanara’s eyes, Jahanara tried to take her in her arms but Roshanara jerked away, dashing the back of her right hand across her eyes and smudging the kohl rimming them.

‘Don’t!’

Jahanara’s arms fell back to her sides. ‘Ever since our mother died I’ve tried hard to look after you all … to do what was in your interests …’

‘If you think that, it’s only because you’ve never troubled to see things from our point of view. You were so certain you knew best that you never asked us what we thought or wanted. Now you’ve got what you deserve for playing the great lady while all the time conducting a squalid liaison with a foreigner … Now you will know what it feels like being excluded from everything that matters.’

‘There is — there was — no liaison. Not ever! I wrote to Nicholas Ballantyne asking him to visit me because I was worried about Aurangzeb. I knew he’d quarrelled badly with our father over the failure of the northern campaign. Nicholas was on that campaign. I hoped he could explain what had happened and help me put matters right between Aurangzeb and Father.’

‘I don’t believe you. That’s just a story you’ve invented to save yourself.’

‘You don’t understand … Nicholas Ballantyne had my confidence because he’d helped me before. When Father appointed Murad commander of the northern army, I summoned Nicholas and asked him to try to advise Murad and keep me informed of the campaign. He didn’t fail me and I knew I could trust him over Aurangzeb.’

‘If that’s true, why did the infidel flee Agra?’

‘Because our father would have had him executed if he’d stayed because he didn’t believe my story any more than you do now.’ Jahanara’s voice was rising and it was only with the greatest of efforts that she was remaining as calm as she was. ‘You deride Nicholas as an infidel — you call him a guilty man. That’s all too easy, labelling him rather than trying to understand. Don’t you remember how good he was to us as children … his loyalty and courage when we were all hunted fugitives? Our family has given him very shabby thanks and that makes me ashamed, as you should be.’ Tears ran down Jahanara’s cheeks. Sometimes the weight of everything that had happened was too heavy to bear. At least Nicholas was safe. Satti al-Nisa had brought her a letter he’d written from Gujarat where he was thinking of taking ship from Surat for England.

‘It’s not only that Nicholas Ballantyne ran away.’ Roshanara’s tone was more confident now that her sister’s anger had turned to tears. ‘I’ve seen how you’ve looked at him, heard your voice soften when you talk about him, as it did just now. Earlier you told me not to take you for a fool. Well, I could say the same thing!’

‘You’re wrong if you think I have feelings — feelings like that for him …’ But Jahanara blushed nevertheless.

‘Am I? Anyway, if you would please move out of my way it’s time I returned to my place at our father’s bedside.’

Startled by a sudden urgent rapping at the outer doors to her apartments, Jahanara put down her book of reflections by her favourite preacher, the twelfth-century mystic Abdul Qadir-al-Jilani. A visitor at this late hour — it must be nearly midnight? Surely her father hadn’t relapsed? It was more than two months since he had first fallen ill and he had been recovering, if only slowly. She had only just got to her feet, pulses racing with anxiety, and taken a few steps forward towards the doors when they were flung wide to admit a tall cloaked figure. As he pushed back his hood her heart soared.

‘Dara!’ She rushed into his embrace. ‘I’m so glad you’ve returned. How I’ve waited for this moment!’

‘I came straight to you,’ Dara said, releasing her. ‘Our father doesn’t know I’m here yet. How is he? It’s some days since I received any report on his health.’

‘The news is good. Satti al-Nisa tells me he has been keeping up his improvement. Recently he’s been strong enough to get up for three or four hours a day — and he’s eating better, not just the mint and manna soup which was all he would take at first. He is still frail, though, and the hakims are insisting that he is not troubled by any affairs of state.’

‘Then he doesn’t know …’

‘Know what?’

‘As soon as it’s light I must go to him. I’ve news that he must hear and soon, however frail he is.’

‘What is it, Dara? What’s happened?’

Dara hesitated and in the flickering candlelight she saw the strain in his face. ‘I know you’ve had your own troubles, but there is no way of breaking this to you gently. Aurangzeb, Shah Shuja and Murad have risen in revolt, claiming our father is too sick to rule. They are preparing to march on Agra with their armies.’

‘But that can’t be true …’ Jahanara stared at Dara, aghast. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. I found it hard to credit myself when the initial reports reached me. Many roads meet near Gwalior. The first news I received was that Aurangzeb was returning to Agra. I thought he must wish to be at our father’s side — as he did to be at yours after your accident — and, being further from Agra than I, had not heard the reassuring news about his recent improvement. So I thought little of it. The next day, a cossid bringing a birthday message to the ruler of Gwalior from his eldest son, our governor at Allahabad, told one of my qorchis of rumours that Shah Shuja was also heading for Agra but with an army. Alarmed, I immediately sent relays of messengers down towards Allahabad to investigate. Thirty-six hours later the true position became clear. My vizier’s son rode into my camp demanding to see me. He had been serving at Aurangzeb’s headquarters in the Deccan and knowing that I was at Gwalior had ridden night and day to alert me. He told me that Aurangzeb was claiming to his senior officers that our father was dying or more probably already dead and that I was concealing the fact to strengthen my grip on the succession. Therefore he was marching on Agra to save the empire from me. He claimed that he was acting in concert not only with Shah Shuja but with Murad too.’

Jahanara felt so numb with shock she could scarcely think, let alone speak. This wasn’t how she’d imagined her reunion with Dara would be. Many times she’d dreamed of telling him of her innocence, knowing he’d believe her, of how he would go to their father and explain, how Shah Jahan would return with him to her apartments to beg her forgiveness. Now, with her father still sick, three of her brothers in arms against him and the empire perhaps about to dissolve into civil war, her own problems suddenly diminished. ‘I’ve heard nothing,’ she finally whispered. ‘Even though I’m confined to these rooms Satti al-Nisa visits me every day. She’d have told me at once if such rumours had reached the court.’

‘I gave orders that all imperial cossids were to be diverted to me as I made my way back to Agra. I didn’t want Father alarmed if I could avoid it until I was back at his side. In the week it has taken me to return I’ve received more messages. In particular those I sent east confirm that Shah Shuja indeed has an army on the move. It can’t be long until this news becomes common knowledge.’

‘We must prevent it from doing so for as long as we can, at least until we’ve sent messengers to our brothers telling them our father is recovering … that in any case their behaviour is treason.’

Dara smiled a little sadly. ‘They probably know both those things — certainly the latter. They’ve also known for a long time that he intends me to be his heir. They’ve seized on his illness as an excuse to act before he makes any formal announcement. It gives their claims greater legitimacy.’

‘But what do they intend to do? Fight you and our father’s armies for the throne?’

‘I don’t know, but this is clearly a conspiracy planned some time ago for just such a contingency. They must have agreed that if anything happened to our father they would act together. Perhaps they’ve agreed some sort of plan to divide the empire between them. Whatever the case, I’m certain Aurangzeb is their leader.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘He hates me,’ Dara said simply. ‘I’ve seen it in his eyes many times, however conciliatory his words. Behind my back he derides my beliefs and interest in other religions and calls me a heretic to anyone who will listen, and many I suspect do through self-interest if nothing more. I thought that in the Deccan he was too far away to do much harm but I was wrong. I’ve been too confident in Father’s favour and in my position here at court. I should have paid more attention to what was happening elsewhere. I have let down my own sons. If I fail now, Suleiman and Sipihr as well as I will surely pay the price.’

‘All this can still be stopped. Before he was taken ill our father was in command of his empire and he can be so again. The most important thing is to quash the rumours that he’s too ill to rule or dying or dead … As soon as possible — tomorrow at dawn if he is in any way strong enough — he must resume his daily appearance on the jharoka balcony to prove to his people that their emperor still lives. And he must be told at once what has happened. God willing he’s not too ill to take command of the situation himself. Surely our brothers won’t dare to defy his authority if they know he is himself again.’

‘Your words are wise as always … I won’t wait until the morning. I’ll go to him now …’ Dara hurried to the door but then stopped to look back at her over his shoulder. ‘Do you want to come with me?’

‘I can’t. He still refuses to see me. Even when I asked to be allowed to visit his sickbed he would not permit it. I fear the sight of me will only disturb him and distract him from more pressing matters.’

‘I’ll tell him how wrong he has been to suspect you. Satti al-Nisa wrote to me informing me exactly what had happened. I’ll make him listen. All will yet be well — I promise you.’

But would all be well, Jahanara wondered, listening to Dara’s fast receding footsteps. She wasn’t so sure. Her father’s accusations and ready belief in her guilt … the knowledge that her own sister had had a hand in her downfall … had rocked her faith in her family, her belief that they were united and not each out for their own interests. And now this dreadful news about her brothers had confirmed her fears exceeding anything she could have imagined in her worst nightmares. Who would ever have believed it could come to this? Taktya takhta — throne or coffin — the brutal code her Moghul ancestors had brought with them from the Asian steppes. Strip away the fine clothes and jewels, the formal etiquette that governed their lives as imperial princes, and what were her brothers? Not civilised scions of a great and enlightened empire but wild animals, snarling at each over a carcass that wasn’t yet even dead meat … snarling like the flat-eared tiger on her father’s worn, heavy, gold ring that had once graced Timur’s hand.

Shah Jahan rose from the low chair where he had seated himself to hear Dara’s story and began slowly to pace his bedchamber, arms wrapped around himself, head bowed. At first Dara’s words had so disconcerted him that for a while he’d just sat silent and still. He had even wondered whether they were a product of his imagination conjured by the hakims’ potions. Often, particularly during the early days of his illness, he’d felt caught midway between wakefulness and sleep, uncertain what was real and what emanated from his tired and troubled brain. Strange images had floated through his mind, often of the departed — his grandfather Akbar, his father Jahangir and above all Mumtaz smiling as she whispered ‘Mubarak manzil’, the traditional greeting from an empress to a returning emperor.

Now, though, he realised he was back in the real world, confronting harsh realities — rebellion, and rebellion led not by traitorous subjects but by members of his immediate family. What madness could have possessed his younger sons? None of them was what he would have wished, but he had never suspected them of such naked treachery. It was as if the old days were returning — the days when the Moghuls’ greatest enemies had been each other. He himself had been pushed into rebellion against his own father and to fighting with his half-brothers for the throne. But that was different … Urged on by Mehrunissa, Jahangir had driven him to it. He had only acted to protect his family. His own sons had no such excuse and he would not allow the old wheel of family ambition, feuding and bloodshed to begin turning again. He would — he must — end this rebellion before it destroyed his family and everything the Moghuls had achieved.

He ceased his pacing and turned to Dara. ‘Send out scouts to their provinces. Find out how big their armies are, how far they have advanced and who has declared for them. I need as much hard information as possible. And in the morning I will summon my council. They must hear everything that you’ve told me. One thing is already clear — we must act quickly and decisively before the rebels gain further momentum.’

‘Jahanara suggested you should appear to your people on the jharoka balcony as soon as you can to quell any rumours that you are dead.’

‘Jahanara? You’ve seen her?’

‘Yes. I went to her immediately I reached the fort.’ Shah Jahan gave Dara a penetrating look but said nothing as he continued, ‘You have done her a great injustice. These stories about her and Nicholas Ballantyne are as malicious and baseless as the stories of your demise. She only asked Nicholas to come to her because she was worried about Aurangzeb. She wanted Nicholas to tell her what had happened during the northern campaign. She swears on the memory of our mother that she’s innocent of any liaison with him … Father, forgive me for speaking so bluntly, but from what I hear you condemned Jahanara unjustly. At least see her now … let my sister herself show you how wrong you have been.’ Dara waited. His father needed those members of his family like Jahanara still loyal to him. He tried again. ‘Father … you must believe me. I …’

This time Shah Jahan did respond. ‘Enough, Dara. I have heard what you’ve said.’

‘You will see Jahanara?’

‘Perhaps.’

Three hours later, with an apricot glow lightening the eastern horizon, Shah Jahan sipped the water his qorchi had just handed him. It was still cold from the well and he drank thirstily, holding the jade cup with hands that were still not quite steady. Was it the result of his illness — the strange weakness that had suddenly inflicted him and for which the hakims could find no explanation? Or agitation at Dara’s news of rebellion? Or was it because soon Jahanara would be before him and he must ask her forgiveness once more?

He was still pondering when he heard a series of shrill trumpet blasts — the signal he had ordered to be given to rouse the people of Agra from their sleep and summon them to the banks of the Jumna to witness the reappearance of their emperor on his jharoka balcony. ‘Qorchi, bring me my robes, please.’ Normally the emperor made his brief appearance on the balcony in a simple cotton tunic, but his people hadn’t seen him for nearly three months. He would wear green brocade and sparkle with jewels when he stepped from his bedchamber on to the carved sandstone balcony as the rising sun warmed the earth. He would raise his arms to bless them and the day to come, remaining there longer than usual so that none could doubt that it was indeed their emperor, returned to health, before them.

Half an hour later, the task was done. Shah Jahan turned away from the cheering crowds gathered below and went back into his apartments. Jahanara would be waiting for him on his private terrace as he had asked. For a moment he hesitated, then made his way there, shading his eyes against the now brilliant light as he came outside again. Jahanara was standing there but did not come forward. For a moment they stood looking at one another, then Shah Jahan strode towards her.

He could find no words. Dara had been so eloquent on her behalf, so convincing in his explanations, so insistent that she was innocent, and in his heart Shah Jahan had known his son was right. How could he have reacted with such unthinking anger? Once again he had failed her. ‘Forgive me,’ he managed at last. ‘I judged you in haste and in anger. I make no excuses …’

‘It is past, Father. Perhaps we shouldn’t speak of it again.’ Jahanara’s tone was measured, devoid of the conflicting emotions swirling within her.

‘But tell me you forgive me or I will not be able to rest.’

‘I forgive you.’ As she spoke those words, as she knew she must for the sake of the dynasty, Jahanara saw her father visibly relax. But were they really true, she wondered. Could she forgive him again? Eventually, perhaps, though it would take time to forget his immediate, unthinking belief in her guilt and his unreasoning anger. But looking at her father with fresh eyes after so many weeks of separation, she realised with a shock how old he looked. His broad shoulders were bowed and his once muscular body — a warrior’s body — looked thin and fragile. His still handsome face was riven with deep lines. Had his illness really taken such a toll or was it that she was only now seeing him as he really was?

Pity welled within her and she managed a smile, but it faded as another thought struck her. ‘I’m not the only one who has suffered an injustice. You wronged Nicholas Ballantyne too. He was blameless for what happened. I turned to him because I was worried about my brothers — Aurangzeb especially. I was too impulsive, I know. I should have reflected how my actions might appear to others. But Nicholas’s only crime was to try to help me despite his reluctance. He is taking ship for England. Let me write to him. My letter may not reach him in time but I would like him to know that all is well … that our family are conscious of what they owe him.’

‘Of course. Tell him I regret what happened and remember his past service with gratitude. Should he ever return to my court he will be welcome.’ Shah Jahan put his hand on Jahanara’s arm. He felt a deep relief that one breach at least was mended, but a deadly weariness followed. He sighed and for a moment closed his eyes.

‘Father … are you all right? Should I summon your hakims?’

‘No. I’ve been an invalid too long and must become an emperor once more.’ Shah Jahan straightened his back. ‘How much has Dara told you of your brothers’ rebellion?’

‘That they have used your illness as an excuse to raise troops and intend to challenge for the throne …’

Shah Jahan frowned. ‘That is the gist of it. I keep thinking what your mother would have thought and how badly I have let her memory down. I should have paid more attention to what your brothers were doing and controlled them better, making regular imperial progresses through their provinces. Instead I gave them and their ambitious counsellors time and opportunity to plot against me.’

Jahanara did not respond for a moment. Her father was right. Grief at Mumtaz’s death had forced him into an emotional seclusion from which he had never fully emerged, blunting his empathy with all of his children, herself included, as his willingness to believe the worst of her had shown. But how could she say any of that to him? ‘Father, the past is gone. Nothing you have done or failed to do can justify my brothers’ rebellion. Concentrate on bringing them to heel.’

Shah Jahan looked round the familiar circle of his counsellors, their faces proof that the news of his sons’ insurrection which he had just broken was as great a surprise to them as it had been to him a few hours earlier. Unless, of course, some of them were good dissemblers. At least one had money worries — his lands had been badly affected by drought. What if Aurangzeb had offered him a handsome sum for his support, Shah Jahan wondered, looking hard into the man’s face. And another over there near the door was known to have coveted a rich jagir that not long before his illness he’d granted to another. He too might have been bought. Who could say? Most men had their price. But at least his Rajput allies, Raja Jai Singh of Amber and Raja Jaswant Singh of Marwar were utterly loyal, he was sure, bound to the Moghuls since Akbar’s time by family ties as well as those of honour. Raising his hands, he spoke again. ‘I have told you only the main facts about the treachery of my three youngest sons. Now Prince Dara will give you as much detail about their movements and that of their forces as we’ve been able to gather.’

‘Aurangzeb’s army is already on the march from the Deccan,’ Dara said. ‘He is apparently claiming that this is not a rebellion — merely that there have been so many rumours that he wishes to come to Agra in person to satisfy himself that the emperor is indeed alive. Shah Shuja also has an army in the field, advancing west along the Ganges. It contains many war elephants bred in the jungles of Assam as well as a large number of horsemen and foot soldiers.’

‘Aurangzeb of course already had standing forces ready to deploy against the rulers of the south, but how did Shah Shuja raise so many men so quickly?’ asked Jai Singh.

Shah Jahan answered. ‘Bengal’s coffers are deep enough to buy him an army twice that size, and he also has the revenues of Bihar, which I was foolish enough to award him though others advised against it. Go on, Dara.’

‘My brother Murad is as deeply implicated as the others. He’s apparently also been mustering troops and buying equipment — or trying to, because unlike his brothers’ his treasuries are nearly empty thanks to his extravagance and incompetence. He’s attempting to raise loans among the wealthy merchants of Gujarat and that will delay him, but not for long, I fear …’

‘You really think they all intend to bring their armies to Agra?’ asked Jaswant Singh.

‘It would seem so. I believe they have made a pact with one another, but whether it is to support one of them for the throne or to divide the empire between them isn’t clear,’ Dara replied.

‘Then it will come to a battle unless I can prevent it,’ said Shah Jahan. ‘I have already sent messages by post riders to every one of my governors and senior officials in the provinces assuring them that I am returned to health — and that anyone who aids my rebellious sons will suffer a traitor’s death. I have also written to my sons, demanding they cease their rebellion and reminding them of their duty to their father. But matters may well have advanced too far for that to have much effect on these ingrates. I have no choice but to command you to prepare the imperial troops immediately for war, summoning every warrior you can muster from your fiefs and ordering your vassals to do the same. Perhaps when the traitors realise the strength of the forces ranging against them they will see reason and pull back before Moghul sheds the blood of Moghul.’

Two hours later, after the last of the counsellors had left, Shah Jahan rose a little shakily from his silver chair. Dara hurried to support him but Shah Jahan waved him back. ‘No. I must learn to be strong again … and, Dara, there’s something I must say to you. If I’d formally declared you my heir many years ago, this could never have happened. Now you will be forced to fight for what should have been yours by right. I regret it from the bottom of my heart, but more importantly I mean to try to make amends. Tomorrow, seated on my peacock throne and before all my court, I will formally declare you my successor and your brothers outlaws.’